


Antivan Poetry

by theRadioStarr



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Bad Poetry, F/M, First Time, Love Confessions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-02
Updated: 2016-05-02
Packaged: 2018-06-04 14:18:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6661894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theRadioStarr/pseuds/theRadioStarr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zevran and Cassandra have been on edge with each other the last few weeks. Still, despite Cassandra's wildest dreams (and she's had quite a few, lately), she could never have seen this coming. </p><p>Not from him, anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Antivan Poetry

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this piece as part of a larger collection of one-shots that I'm very, _very_ slowly working on, but I did my best to write this one in such a way that reading this shouldn't be too dependent on the earlier pieces (being one short, and a collection of party banters). 
> 
> I do make mention of chorisia flowers, which is a flower theme between them that I'm putting focus on, but the origins of it aren't overly important, I don't think. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy! The tag I use on Tumblr is #pentarainai.

Cassandra was too busy daydreaming as she left her after-dinner meeting with the Inquisitor to notice that her stool by the training dummies was occupied. In fact, she wasn’t even aware right away that he was actually speaking to her. She was just very impressed with her own recollection of his voice.

“Lady Seeker? Is everything alright?”

She started when she saw him sitting there. So it _hadn’t_ been her imagination.

“Ah, Z-Zevran. Everything is fine. I was just…”

“So lost in your own thoughts that you didn’t notice me? I quite understand – though the colour in your cheeks suggests I may still have been cause for distraction, no?”

Cassandra obviously couldn’t hide the heat that flooded her face, and opted for a frustrated sigh. “Is there something you need, Zevran?”

“I was hoping to steal your company for a time,” he admitted quietly. A hand appeared from behind his back (she’d been too focused on his face to notice before). In his palm, short stem pinched gently between his delicate fingers, was a beautiful flower: it had five petals, the ends a rich pink, the centre a soft speckled yellow surrounding a single pollen tube.

She reached out to take it from him, but he withdrew his hand, instead stepping closer and tucking the short stem under her braid just above her ear. She caught a small whiff of it as it moved past her nose and smiled at the familiar scent.

“I thought the _chorisia_ was native to Antiva?” she asked.

“It can be procured just as any flower can,” Zevran answered her. “Though I will admit, it was not easy. Shall we walk? I had hoped to show you something, if you’ve the time.”

“Of course,” Cassandra agreed immediately. Her stomach was turning expectantly. It was uncomfortable, if only because she didn’t want to get her hopes up about why he was taking her off on her own.

“You will live to see the morning, Cassandra.” He chuckled, that same playful smirk he always seemed to wear brightening his expression. “That is a promise. You need not look so worried.”

“I am not worried – simply curious.” It wasn’t entirely the truth. The way her name fell from his tongue sent a jolt through her. Maker, but how had she allowed this to happen? Surely he knew he had her wrapped around his finger?

Cassandra didn’t truly believe that anything between them could end well. Zevran was a terrible flirt, and she couldn’t figure out whether he was the kind of man to commit or not. The conflict between his past and his actions with her set her head spinning.  

As they made their way toward the front gate, she couldn’t help but admire the way his hair floated in the gentle breeze that blew through Skyhold. It was all left down today, his usual braids strangely absent, and she could faintly smell his shampoo in the stronger gusts that made his golden tresses swirl around his face.

“We’re leaving Skyhold?” she asked as they made their way out the front gates.

“Indeed,” Zevran commented with a sly grin. “I am starting to doubt this trust you claim to have for me, Lady Seeker. Are you so desperate to turn back?”

“It is in my nature to be wary, Zevran.”

“It is a good way to keep yourself alive,” he chuckled, and then they continued to walk in silence.

It occurred to Cassandra as they crossed the bridge that he’d been keeping his distance for the last fortnight or so. When she thought about it, it was really quite unusual for him; normally he was either harassing her constantly or in the Herald’s Rest drinking with Bull and the Chargers. But even when she had gone searching for him specifically (she would never admit it, to herself or to others) he had been nowhere in sight.

She spoke without thinking. “Have you been alright?”

“Me? Of course I have,” he answered her, but there was hesitation in his voice. “What makes you believe there was anything wrong?”

“You have been absent. I found it odd.”

There was silence again for about half a minute. “There were some things I needed to collect. I was away from Skyhold for a short time.”

“I – we – the Inquisitor could have had a party join you, I’m sure-”

Zevran laughed, but the sound was kind. “I am not so easy to kill as you think, Cassandra. Besides, I knew you would wish to join me, and I couldn’t have that.”

Cassandra frowned. “Why not?”

Zevran smiled that smug grin of his again, and refused to answer her further. It wasn’t until they were near the valley at the foot of the mountain that he finally spoke again.

“Through here.”

“I have seen plenty of forests, Zevran.”

“Ah, but you have not seen _this_ forest, I assure you.” He stepped between the trees, just as at home in them as he was anywhere. His steps were steady but slow, and she took a deep breath before following him.

“Where are we going?” she asked again.

“You will see momentarily. We are almost there.”

The wildlife had carved a path not far from the forest edge, and he gestured at it as if to tell her to follow it. It was quite dark, the sun lost over a mountain peak, and what little daylight was left filtered weakly through the trees. Zevran pulled the lantern strapped to his belt off and handed it to her; she held it for him while he dug out his tinderbox and lit it. He took it back from her and walked close as she started down the path, making sure to hold the lantern high enough that she wouldn’t trip on anything.

Cassandra stopped walking abruptly after only a few steps.

Zevran held the lantern steady, and she didn’t see his smile as she knelt to retrieve the flower on the path. She picked it up and pressed her nose into it, inhaling deeply.

“You put these here.” It was not a question.

“Perhaps I did, Lady Seeker. What of it?”

“You still refuse to tell me where we are going?”

“You will see soon,” was, once again, all he told her in response.

She bent and gathered every flower that crossed her path. She had about fifteen held in one arm before she gave up, but she only ended up leaving a few behind. They seemed to slowly become more frequent, until she emerged into a small clearing.

It was dusk, now, the sky above streaked with pink and gold. The forest clearing floor seemed to match; it was almost entirely carpeted in _chorisia_ flowers. Around the rim were about thirty unlit candles, and in the middle, a large blanket had been laid out with a few others still rolled up nearby.

“Zevran?” Cassandra whispered. Her heart was hammering in her chest.

“Excuse the poor entrance,” Zevran murmured. He put out his lantern and walked it over to the blanket, setting it down carefully before digging out his tinderbox once more. “It would have been much more dramatic were I a mage. Unfortunately, I was not gifted with such talents.”

He lit the first candle and picked it up, tucking his tinderbox away and using the first candle to go around the edge of the clearing lighting the rest. He was about halfway through when Cassandra found her voice again.

“What is this, Zevran?”

“It is a forest clearing, full of flowers and lit by candlelight. Is it not romantic enough for you?”

She swallowed thickly. “That is – that is not what I meant.”

He spared her one unreadable look, and then resumed his task of lighting the candles. He didn’t speak again until the last one was lit and the first one was replaced.

“You asked me on the way down if I was alright,” he started. She nodded, and he looked down at his hands where they were folded defensively between them. “The truth is that I – no I have not been. I told you of the circumstances that brought me to Ferelden?”

“You mean your story about Rinna? And how you took the contract on the Hero as a suicide mission? And then when Taliesen tried to take you back to the Crows?”

“Yes.” He bit his lip nervously; it was unlike Zevran to show nerves, and Cassandra stepped closer unconsciously in concern. “When Rinna died…I do not believe I need to tell you that I loved her, Cassandra. I loved Taliesen, too. I should not have, but it could not be helped… I made a terrible mistake that day, and no number of tavern girls could make me forget that pain. I decided that if, somehow, I managed to survive the Warden contract in Ferelden, that I would never find love like that again. It was not worth the anguish.

“But Queen Cousland spared me.” He smiled wistfully. “She was an incredible woman, and she helped me come to terms with my past, with who I was and who I could grow to be. She made me realize that life was still worth living. I will forever be grateful to her for that.”

He paused for a moment, pushing his hair back off his face as he looked up at her once more. Still, he wouldn’t meet her eyes. “I returned to Antiva, intent on dismantling the Crows. I did an excellent job, if I may say so – but then I got word from Leliana about this little Inquisition of yours.”

“She intended you as one of her spies, if I remember correctly.”

“She did, but it was decided when the Inquisitor was brought in that she wanted me to be close to the one with the strange magic. I was asked to join the party as her eyes on the Herald.” He chuckled. “She was _very_ unimpressed with my reports.”

“And why was that?”

“My eyes were elsewhere,” he answered her. He looked her up and down, the movement far from subtle. “It took me a while to realize what was happening. I finally took some time the last fortnight or so to clear my head and come to terms with myself.”

Cassandra watched as he walked over to the blanket that was spread out on the clearing floor, her blood roaring in her ears. He bent to pick up a book, and flipped through the pages carefully.

“I understand you have an appreciation for poetry?” Zevran asked, though his tone suggested it was more of a comment. “I thought to pick up a rare tome, but I could not find it, even in Val Royeaux’s underground trade. So instead I – I tried my hand at one of my own. I started in the common tongue, but it sounded wrong, so I went with Antivan, instead.”

He cleared his throat quietly.

 

 

 

> _El amor, ¿a qué huele? Parece, cuando se ama,_
> 
> _que el mundo entero tiene rumor de primavera._
> 
> _Las hojas secas tornan y las ramas con nieve,_
> 
> _y él sigue ardiente y joven, oliendo a la rosa eterna._
> 
> _Por todas partes abre guirnaldas invisibles,_
> 
> _todos sus fondos son líricos -risa o pena-,_
> 
> _la mujer a su beso cobra un sentido mágico_
> 
> _que, como en los senderos, sin cesar se renueva..._
> 
> _Vienen al alma música de ideales conciertos,_
> 
> _palabras de una brisa liviana entre arboledas;_
> 
> _se suspira y se llora, y el suspiro y el llanto_
> 
> _dejan como un romántico frescor de madreselvas..._

Cassandra flushed furiously as she listened to him. She had heard Josephine speak Antivan plenty of times, but to hear _him_ speak it… It was an entirely new language. It took her a moment after he finished before she realized that he was waiting for her to say something.

She recognized few words, but those she did were enough to tell her that this was no poem about some mundane thing like cats or marketplaces.

“I wish I could say more, Zevran, but I am not fluent in Antivan. I was… too mesmerized by your voice, anyway.”

He smiled at her briefly, his shoulders relaxing in relief. “I shall take that as a compliment. And yet, you are still hesitant.”

“I just… I don’t understand, Zevran. What is all of this?” Cassandra gestured widely at everything: the flowers, the candles, at him specifically, still clutching his book in his hands. Still, she slowly walked closer. “I am confused about what is going on. About what the purpose of this is.” The truth was that she knew _exactly_ what it was. She was just afraid that what she hoped it meant was different from what it _actually_ meant.

“Cassandra, please. You think I went through all of this simply to share myself with you for a single night?” His voice was not as strong as it had been just moments before. “If I had wished to sate my curiosity and move on, I would have simply asked. You would have refused, and we would have gone our separate ways.”

She stopped in front of him, but couldn’t find words. Maker, but he was short. He looked up at her, meeting her eyes this time, and her breath caught in her throat at what she saw in them.

“I recall you telling me once that you would not take a knight in shining armour,” he told her after a few moments of silence. His voice was much lower and quieter when he spoke this time, more honest and intimate. It fanned the flames that were building behind her navel, but still, she stayed silent. “That a man who presented himself before you in scratched and dented armour would win your affections, since he had been tested in ways the knight had not. I find myself wondering… would you still accept the broken and dented soldier if he offered himself to you with the blood of innocents caked into the scratches and joints? If he offered to stand by your side and dedicate his life to your health and happiness, would he still be worthy?”

Cassandra couldn’t believe what she was hearing; had she heard him right? Was he confessing himself to her?

Her gaze was locked with his as she processed the information. She couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, until suddenly she saw fear in Zevran’s eyes. He looked away, and her hand came up automatically to touch his cheek, turning his gaze back toward her own.

And she smiled. Maker, she felt lighter than she had in a long time. “Zevran… the Maker himself washed that blood clean when you chose to protect them, instead. And I would tell him that I – I have waited and hoped for this day.” She laughed quietly. “I had not expected it to look like this.”

He frowned deeply at that. “Did I – have I done something wrong? I paid very careful attention. I even had Varric give me copies of-”

Zevran’s sentence ended in a sigh when Cassandra silenced him. Her lips barely brushed his for a moment before she tried to pull back; she broke from him for only a second before he stood on his toes and kissed her back.

For a moment, she couldn’t breathe. The dawning realization of what was happening set in, and she acted on instinct, one hand threading through Zevran’s hair while the other found his waist to pull him closer. The moment she did, he broke from her again.

They were both panting, chests rising and falling in tandem as they tried to catch their breath.

“It is perfect,” Cassandra finally told him.

He hummed appreciatively and smiled at her – fully and honestly. It was a rare sight, and she tried her best to commit it to memory. “Not yet. The night has only just begun, Cassandra.”

“What exactly does that mean?” she teased him as she stepped around and on to the blanket.

Zevran spun slowly to face her again. “It means that when I am through with you, you will not even remember your own name,” he purred.

Her breath caught for a moment, and then she reached out and pulled him down with her as she fell back. She would have kissed him again, but he pulled away and sat up above her, his knees on either side of her hips.

“Oh, no. I know you are very straight-to-the-point, Cassandra, but there are some things that should not be rushed. You will not get so much of me so quickly.”

She sat up with him, resting her weight on one of her palms, and gasped when his lips found her throat. She could vaguely feel his hands at her sides, pulling the buckles loose that held her breastplate on.

Cassandra gave one silent prayer of thanks to the Maker for indulging her foolishness, and then she finally allowed herself to relax. Finally, he kissed her again; it was full of promises of things to come. She kissed him back with fervor, a shiver running down her spine.

Finally, her breastplate sagged. Zevran broke their kiss once more to pull it free, and then he gently pushed her back down onto the blanket.

Cassandra smiled lazily and closed her eyes, content. He had earned the chance to have his way with her, but she vowed silently to return the favour as soon as she had the chance.

**Author's Note:**

> I totally forgot to credit the author of the poem - uh oh. Sorry, Juan Ramón Jiménez. That's who wrote it, by the way. It's simply called _Amor_.


End file.
